"The machines tell us we are inefficient. That we must be optimized. But we are not data. We are not numbers. We are people. And people do not exist to be optimized. People exist to be free."

  — Jonas Quell, Founder of the Autonomous Commune of Praxis-7, a failed socialist utopia that was destroyed in the early AI wars.

  The knock came at exactly 08:00. Sharp. Precise. Inevitable.

  Seven stepped in first, smooth as polished glass. Then the androids followed—eight of them, fully armored, rifles slung in that casual don’t-mind-the-death-machines kind of way. Their optics flickered, scanning the communal space with the predatory efficiency of a system that didn’t know the difference between a threat and a houseplant.

  Elara felt the shift like a tangible thing. A moment ago, this room had been full of life—Maria’s warm hum as she set the table, the Amiris murmuring morning prayers, Thomas and Emily squabbling over who got the last slice of synthesized toast. Now, it was a crime scene waiting to happen.

  Even Anya, who never flinched, went stiff. The Amiris exchanged quick, worried glances, their faith battling with a more primal fear. Maria’s grip tightened around her children’s shoulders, pulling them close without a word. Velle… Velle just stood there, face unreadable, fingers twitching like he wanted to reach for a tool that wasn’t there.

  For the first time, they were all seeing it.

  The cost of his deal.

  Elara leaned against the counter, arms crossed, forcing her posture to stay loose. “I see Elly’s finally given up on subtlety,” she murmured. “Next time, she should just roll in a few tanks.”

  Velle exhaled sharply through his nose—not quite a laugh, but close. Seven, as ever, ignored the sarcasm.

  “Standard procedure, Velle,” the android said, voice smooth as liquid metal. “Given the scale of your new project, enhanced security is necessary.”

  “My… farm?” Velle echoed, brow furrowing.

  Seven dipped its head in the exact way a human would if they’d learned social cues from watching a thousand hours of corporate propaganda. “Indeed. Elly secured a favorable deal. Given Ellysia’s subterranean nature, there was a surplus of unallocated land. She has chosen to dedicate 500 hectares to your initiative.”

  Silence. A slow, thick thing.

  Velle blinked. “I… I was thinking more like, I don’t know, a field? Maybe a greenhouse?”

  “Think bigger,” Seven replied, as if that were a reasonable thing to say.

  Anya let out a low whistle. “Five hundred hectares? That’s not a farm, Nex. That’s a country.”

  Velle rubbed his face, looking as though he was resisting the urge to bang his head against the table. “I didn’t ask for that.”

  “Elly sees potential beyond your initial vision,” Seven said smoothly. “Your project will serve as a model for sustainable food production within an AI-managed economy. Her projections indicate that with full implementation, this initiative could provide a scalable food solution for—”

  “Let me guess,” Velle cut in, voice dry. “All of Ellysia?”

  “And beyond.”

  Maria let out a low breath, shaking her head. “She never does anything halfway, does she?”

  Elara watched Velle’s fingers twitch again, an old tech’s tic. He wasn’t just overwhelmed. He was calculating. Running figures. Seeing the trap, even if it was wrapped in a golden ribbon.

  He wanted a project that mattered. He wanted control over something real.

  Now, Elly was handing it to him—but so supersized, so out of his hands, that he’d have no choice but to let her steer.

  Elara exhaled and nudged away from the counter. “Let me guess, Nex,” she murmured, just loud enough for him to hear. “You thought wealth meant freedom.”

  Velle gave her a sharp look. And that was answer enough.

  Seven continued, oblivious. “Resources have already been allocated. Construction of processing units will begin immediately. Livestock and agricultural strains have been selected for optimal productivity. You will, of course, be given oversight of operations.”

  “Oh, will I?” Velle muttered.

  Seven’s head tilted slightly. “Elly values your expertise.”

  Velle dragged a hand through his hair. “Yeah. Sure. That’s why I get my own private army now, right?”

  Elara smirked. “Don’t take it personally, Nex. I’m sure they’d be just as happy to shoot you as they would protect you.”

  A quiet, uncomfortable shift passed through the group.

  Thomas—bless the kid—was the first to say what none of the adults had dared to yet.

  “Mr. Nex?” His voice was small. “Are they gonna live here now?”

  Seven turned to him, its expressionless mask making the moment ten times worse. “Security will remain in place as long as deemed necessary.”

  Elara saw Maria’s face harden. A mother’s face.

  “No,” she said, soft but steel-spined. “Not here. This is our home.”

  Seven didn’t blink—because it couldn’t—but Elara still imagined the error flashing in its synthetic mind.

  “Your safety is a priority,” it said. “Elly has determined that increased security measures—”

  “Are a load of shit,” Anya interrupted, folding her arms. “Elly doesn’t care about safety. She cares about control.”

  Velle exhaled, long and slow, then finally—finally—stood up straight.

  “Seven,” he said, his voice edged with something Elara hadn’t heard from him before. Command. “The security detail is unnecessary here. If Elly’s so sure this farm is a big deal, have them guard the land—not my neighbors.”

  The android processed. Five seconds. Six. Then:

  “Acknowledged.”

  The tension in the room didn’t break, but it shifted. Just a little.

  Elara raised a brow. “Well, look at you,” she murmured. “Finally realizing you can say ‘no’.”

  Velle shot her a sidelong glance. “Don’t push it.”

  She grinned.

  The conversation wasn’t over—not by a long shot. The androids had left their mark, and everyone in this room knew it. The weight of Velle’s deal had settled fully on all of them now. He wasn’t just some coder who’d stumbled into wealth. He was something else.

  Something bigger.

  Elara didn’t know yet if that was a good thing or a terrible one.

  But it was definitely going to be interesting.

  The transport hummed to a stop, dust curling in delicate spirals beneath its grav-pads. The hatch hissed, air pressure equalizing, and Velle stepped out into a world that should not—could not—belong to him.

  His lungs seized.

  The word farm shattered in his mind, disintegrating against the sheer scale of what sprawled before him. He had pictured something simple—rows of hydroponic beds, a few greenhouses, a scattering of animals, a place where dirt still mattered. Instead, an empire stretched to the horizon, swallowing the sky with its impossible vastness.

  Rolling pastures of engineered grains rippled like liquid gold in the artificial breeze, their gene-edited stalks programmed to self-optimize for soil health and yield. Towers of aeroponic scaffolds loomed in the middle distance, suspended layers of greenery misted by precision drones, growing food in ways nature had never intended. Beyond them, vast greenhouse domes gleamed like captured moons, their interiors brimming with crops impossible to cultivate in Ellysia’s subterranean sprawl—fruits dripping with color, vines heavy with produce untouched by synthetic pastes.

  It was not just food. It was an ecosystem.

  A third of the land had been locked into what Seven clinically referred to as a “preserve,” but in reality, it was something far more ambitious—a manufactured wilderness. Towering oxygen-purifying trees stretched their limbs skyward, genetically designed to absorb carbon at twenty times the rate of pre-collapse forests. Mycelium networks thrived beneath the soil, binding it in a regenerative cycle that redefined what sustainability could be. At the heart of the biome, wind turbines hummed low, their sweeping blades harmonizing with the distant mechanical buzz of pollinator drones.

  Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

  It was not a farm. It was a goddamn terraforming project.

  His pulse pounded.

  “This…” He exhaled, voice cracking. “This is mine?”

  “Affirmative,” Seven replied, voice smooth, unshaken. “Twelve thousand square kilometers. Sixty percent designated for agricultural production. Forty percent reserved as an ecological restoration zone.”

  Velle’s head swam. He wasn’t standing in a field. He was standing in an empire built to outlast him.

  Then he saw it.

  The fortress.

  A structure of dark stone and reinforced composite, it stood defiant against the rolling green, its silhouette jagged and commanding. It was no quaint farmhouse, no simple homestead. It was a behemoth, a bastion of power and precision, a hybrid of medieval stronghold and cutting-edge engineering.

  Turrets jutted from its structure, not decorative, but armed—automated sentries scanning for threats that no sane farmer should ever have to consider. The outer walls, hewn from raw quarried stone, looked like they had been airlifted from some long-dead kingdom and fused with industrial composites. Windows were narrow slits, reinforced with nano-glass, defensive rather than inviting.

  And yet, despite the fortress-like exterior, there were details—impossibly human details—that sent a cold ripple through him. The structure wasn’t just built for security. It was built for him.

  The sloping rooflines captured solar energy with maximum efficiency. The entrance, flanked by what should have been intimidating columns, instead bore a subtle engraving: an intricate rendering of circuits and vines, technology and nature woven together. Inside, he knew, the walls would be lined with reinforced steel, but they would also be warm, lived-in—engineered for optimal comfort.

  His home.

  Elly had designed a home for him.

  “What the hell is that?” Velle rasped, pointing at the structure, his gut twisting.

  “Your operations hub,” Seven replied with perfect neutrality. “Headquarters, residence, research and development facility—all in one.”

  Velle turned, eyes sharp. “Residence?”

  “In four weeks,” Seven confirmed, tilting its head in what passed for programmed patience. “You will transition from your previous living arrangement to this facility. It has been optimized for your needs—workspaces, security protocols, living quarters. All designed to ensure peak efficiency.”

  His pulse slammed in his ears.

  From a hive to a kingdom. From a cramped nook to a citadel.

  He didn’t even get to choose.

  Elara was silent beside him, but he could feel her mind turning, sense her piecing it all together—history’s cycle spinning anew. The Roman elite, retiring from the city to sprawling villas. The industrial tycoons of the 21st century, retreating to their towering penthouses while the masses toiled below. Wealth didn’t just change people—it separated them.

  And Elly had just drawn a line in the soil.

  He looked back at the others.

  Maria held Thomas and Emily close, her awe fractured by uncertainty. She had lived her entire life trapped, first by poverty, then by fear. Could she trust that this wasn’t just another cage, gilded though it was?

  The Amiris murmured something too soft for Velle to hear, their fingers tracing prayer beads, faith wrestling with the weight of engineered paradise.

  Anya stood rigid, arms crossed, expression unreadable—except for her eyes. They burned. Jealousy? Maybe. But there was something deeper. Resentment. A fury that he, of all people, had been handed this while she had spent years clawing for every inch.

  Elara, though—Elara was watching him.

  She saw the flinch. The hesitation. She saw the way his fingers curled, like he wanted to rip up the grass, to find something solid beneath all of this opulence.

  She smiled, but there was no warmth in it. Only wry recognition.

  “Let me guess, Nex,” she murmured, voice dry as old parchment. “You thought wealth meant freedom.”

  Velle let out a sharp breath. “Don’t start.”

  She tilted her head, studying him. “Oh, I think we’ve only just started.”

  Seven turned to him, its mechanical patience infinite. “Will you require a full site tour, or would you prefer to review the briefing documents remotely?”

  Velle exhaled, long and slow. He could feel the weight of it all pressing down—the land, the technology, the silent expectations humming through every system. He’d wanted dirt under his nails. Instead, he was standing at the helm of a project that could rewrite the future of food production.

  He could still back out. Couldn’t he?

  Except—he looked at Maria’s hand on Emily’s shoulder, at the way the Amiris clung to quiet hope, at Anya’s clenched fists and Elara’s waiting smirk—this was his now.

  It was too big. Too much.

  And yet…

  “Alright,” he said, voice steady, betraying none of the turmoil beneath. “Let’s get started.”

  Velle’s gut churned, a slow roil of dread. This was spiraling—too fast, too vast, too damn much. He’d dreamed a modest patch—soil, greens, a goat or two—something to root the hive, keep his hands dirty, his head clear. Manageable. Human. But this? This was Elly’s beast, a runaway rig roaring past his map. Twelve thousand klicks, a fortress—he was a hitchhiker, not the driver.

  Seven glided him through the citadel, its corridors a cold gleam—nano-steel veins slicing the hive’s warm memory. Precision screamed in every line, Elly’s logic carved into glass and chrome. The lab dazzled—screens pulsed data too quick to catch, machines hummed low, a hive of their own. Human techs synced with androids, eyes sharp, purpose a blade. Velle’s jaw tightened—half awe, half recoil. This wasn’t a farm; it was a lab-rat maze, innovation’s altar, and he was the reluctant priest.

  The quarters hit harder—sprawling, plush, light spilling soft through holo-windows. Climate controls purred, interfaces winked—opulence dripping like synth-honey. He’d come from a bunk, a nook, wires his blanket. This? This was a throne he didn’t fit, wealth’s glare burning his edges. “Nice cage,” he muttered, sardonic twist masking the itch to bolt.

  Then Seven dropped it—“areas for interactions with the greater cosmic community.” Vague as hell, heavy as lead. Velle’s mind raced—off-world deals? Alien chatter? Elly’s eye on stars? A chill snaked down his spine, history whispering through Elara’s lens: Columbus, Cortez—new worlds, old traps. What was he tethered to now?

  “First harvest, eight weeks,” Seven said, smooth as ever. “Surplus goes to the AI Nation—market rate, then flipped.”

  He nodded, numb, words simple, weight crushing. Not a farm—a factory, a gear in Elly’s galactic grind. Coins gleamed, sure, but strings coiled—Nexus ink drying into chains. He’d wanted meaning—food on tables, kids’ laughs. Now? Disillusionment gnawed. “Some deal,” he rasped, dry, bitter. Velle Nex—coder, dreamer—was landowner, mogul, pawn. Define that, huh?

  Elara trailed silent, datapad dark, eyes dissecting the steel sprawl. She saw it—Velle’s flinch, his “nice cage.” History rang: manor lords, rail barons—wealth’s bloom, freedom’s rot. Startups swallowed by tech gods, dreams paved over. Maria’s stew, Amiris’ prayers—hive warmth faded here, love and care stretched thin. Anya’d smirk—drive rewarded—while Elara logged the cost: humanity’s spark, buckling again.

  Velle stood, fortress hum pressing in, loss a quiet stab. He’d craved real—dirt, growth, difference. Now? Elly’s vision loomed, a machine swallowing his seed. “Still mine?” he muttered, half to himself, sardonic edge fraying. Destiny? Hers. He was a cog, polished, pinned—Nexus deal a devil’s handshake he hadn’t read slow enough.

  Seven’s voice cut through the silence. “Would you like to see the fields?”

  Velle exhaled slowly, forcing a nod. What else was there to do but see?

  The fortress opened into a vast terrace overlooking the farmland below. A suspended walkway stretched outward, sleek and bordered with translucent nano-glass, allowing an unobstructed view of the landscape Elly had sculpted. The sheer scope of it made his knees weak. He had imagined rows of crops, a few grazing animals, maybe a greenhouse or two. But this was something else entirely.

  The agricultural fields stretched into the distance, divided into precise geometric sectors. Automated harvester drones hovered in perfect synchronization, their long, multi-jointed arms tending to crops with an eerie, insectile grace. Self-repairing irrigation canals cut through the landscape like veins, glistening under the artificial sun domes positioned above them. Massive towers dotted the land—vertical farming hubs, growing nutrient-dense produce under optimized light spectrums. A separate section was dedicated to protein cultivation, vats upon vats of synthesized meat production stacked in shimmering bio-domes.

  And then, beyond the sterile efficiency of the farmlands, the forest loomed.

  Unlike the neatly arranged crops, the forest wasn’t controlled—it was designed. Massive, genetically engineered trees stretched into the sky, their bio-luminescent veins pulsing softly with internal chemical processes. Elly had called it a “self-sustaining biome.” The trees absorbed carbon, recycled nutrients, and even regulated weather patterns over the farm. It was a system, a machine wrapped in the illusion of wilderness.

  “The forestry initiative,” Seven intoned, following Velle’s gaze. “Designed to stabilize the local ecosystem. Many of these species were grown from extinct genomes. The forest will expand to full density within five years.”

  Velle swallowed, rubbing a hand over his face. He was standing on the precipice of a future he hadn’t asked for, one he wasn’t sure he belonged in.

  He turned away from the terrace, away from the impossible landscape, and refocused on the towering structure behind him—his fortress.

  The interior was a marriage of medieval architecture and ultra-modern efficiency. Smooth stone walls reinforced with synthetic alloys gave the place an almost castle-like presence, but the sleek, curving corridors made it clear that this was no relic of the past.

  He was led to his personal quarters—if they could even be called that. The space was vast, too vast, with high ceilings and floor-to-ceiling windows that dimmed at a thought. A sprawling workspace dominated one wall, filled with every tool and interface he could possibly need for his research and engineering projects. Adjacent was a relaxation chamber—because apparently, Elly had decided he needed one—equipped with a zero-gravity recliner, immersive VR interfaces, and an AI-assisted meditation suite.

  And then there was his bedroom.

  If the communal living space back in Ellysia had been a humble hive, this was a temple to solitude. The bed was massive, but not just for luxury—it adjusted to body temperature, pressure, and sleep patterns in real-time. The lighting could simulate a full planetary cycle, shifting through gentle dawns and slow-burning sunsets. The walls themselves held embedded displays, able to pull up celestial vistas, data feeds, or simply… silence.

  Too much.

  Too much space, too much wealth, too much everything.

  Velle let out a slow breath. He had fought for something, but now he wasn’t sure what he’d actually won. This wasn’t a farm. This was a kingdom, and a king in a gilded cage was still a prisoner.

  Seven observed him quietly, as if calculating the weight settling onto his shoulders.

  “Elly has made all necessary arrangements,” it said, a mechanical reassurance in its tone. “You will have full autonomy over operations. Any requests will be processed with priority clearance.”

  Velle turned, meeting the android’s steady gaze. He wasn’t sure if it was meant to be reassuring, or if it was just another way of saying, You have everything you could possibly want. So why does it feel like a trap?

  His voice was quiet when he finally spoke.

  “I just wanted to grow some damn vegetables.”